


Forgotten

by spelaeus



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Additional Tags To Be Added As Story Progresses, Amnesia, Angst, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 10:01:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4701935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spelaeus/pseuds/spelaeus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan loses his memories, hardly remembering his own name. Brendon decides to make it his second chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exposition AF

     Ryan felt dead. He knew he wasn’t actually, he wasn’t sure how he knew, but he did. He felt broken. He sat at the bar with a drink in hand and he wasn’t sure how he ended up in such a position. He didn’t care, though. If he wasn’t where he was, he would go there, because he felt dead. And the cure to death is drowning whatever sorrows may corrupt you. But he didn’t know what those particular sorrows were. He was only aware of their mere presence.

 His heart was heavy, but he didn’t mind because everything felt heavy. Alcohol and exhaustion alike increased his gravity, the pressure building with every sip from his glass. His head was pounding, and he had tears in his eyes that he was an expert at keeping at bay.

 He couldn’t remember a thing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

      Brendon felt cheated. He kept telling himself that it was all Ryan’s fault. That if Ryan hadn’t frustrated him, Brendon wouldn’t have lost his temper. He was doing all he could to shove any kind of guilt out of his mind. 

 He stepped heavily through the grass of the random park he had found himself at. His mind was cloudy, still processing the prior events of the evening. He had left the scene immediately, blocking out nearly everything that had happened. And yet it was constantly running through his mind over and over again. He couldn’t escape it.

 Taking a deep breath, he decided to go back to the motel to see if he could make things better with Ryan. If he was still there at all.

 

 

 

Earlier that evening:

 

      Ryan was disgusted. Nothing made sense in his swirling mind. He had seen Brendon with some whore in the hall of the cruddy motel. He didn’t know what to think of it. He and Brendon had always said that relationships were purely for show, for the media to see. But the scene Ryan had laid his eyes upon was private. Not even for his eyes, let alone those of the media. Of their fans. Of the world.

 His mind swam as he trudged out to the fire escape of the motel, deciding maybe a cigarette would clear his muddy mind. He dug one out of his pocket, along with a lighter, and took a deep drag as he leaned on the railing. Tears were close in his eyes, but even concealed by the high altitude of the alleyway, along with the dark of night, he wouldn’t let them fall.

 He had told himself to not get hung up on Brendon. He had told himself that everything ended badly for him and that this would be no different. He had sworn, he had begged his own heart to not open up. But Brendon had demolished his walls, and now everything was crumbled. 

 Hearing footsteps behind him, he flicked his cigarette into the night air and prepared to go back into the hall, thinking it was another motel patron wishing to smoke. He was not in the mood to share the cramped landing space.

 However, emerging from the heavy door that led to the motel hall was Brendon himself. Ryan made a disgusted face, turning back around and trying to dig out another cigarette. He couldn’t deal with this shit right now. Or ever. He could find a way to avoid his problems forever. But Brendon was a big, huge, unavoidable problem.

 “Leave me alone.” Ryan ordered without a glance back. Brendon coughed gently and reached out to put a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. In response, Ryan stuck his lit cigarette onto Brendon’s hand. It was a harsh action, and Brendon recoiled in pain, but Ryan didn’t care. If his feelings didn’t matter to Brendon, the opposite also applied.

 “Babe, come on..” Brendon began, to which Ryan spun around to face Brendon.

 “Don’t you dare call me babe.” He spat, glaring at Brendon. The shorter boy looked hurt, and Ryan scoffed at this expression. “Fuck you. You can’t be hurt. You’re not allowed to be hurt.”

 “It was an accident.” Brendon replied, his expression hardening.

 “An accident? Oh come on. That is the most cliche thing you could possibly say.” Ryan flicked his cigarette ashes on Brendon as he leaned back against the railing. He was not handling the situation as calmly as he would have liked to, so he was attempting to simmer. Brendon looked down, hurt, anger, and regret bubbling inside of him.

 “I’m sorry.”

 “I don’t give a shit if you’re sorry.” Ryan replied, spitting on Brendon’s cheek. To this, Brendon’s head snapped up, glaring at Ryan.

 “You know what? Fuck you. You’re not willing to forgive me at all, are you?”

 “Why should you deserve forgiveness? You’re a fucking rat. Get out of my fucking band, get out of my fucking sight, and get out of my god damn life.”

 Brendon’s anger was at a boiling point, and his hands flew at Ryan. Ryan dodged out of the way, expecting Ryan’s temper. What he was not expecting, however, was himself losing his footing, slipping as his body slammed into the wall of the motel as his foot flew out from underneath him. His head knocked against the wall, deeming him unconscious and unable to regain his balance. His body tumbled down the fire escape, promptly crumpling at a landing four stories below.

 Brendon’s expression melted. Every part of him longed to go down to Ryan, see if he was okay, tend to him, apologize over and over. But instead, he ran. He burst into the hall of the motel, down the stairs, and out the door.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

     Ryan stared at the bottom of his glass. He was straining to remember how he had gotten there. Or anything, really. He foggily remembered his name, which was reassured by showing the bartender his ID. The last thing he remembered was waking up in some foreign alleyway. Maybe that was a normal occurrence for him? He couldn’t remember. He still wasn’t entirely sure who he was. He certainly wasn’t sure where he was.

 He began to ask the bartender for another drink, but decided against it. Continuing to drink would only worsen what little memory he had left. But he also didn’t want to leave the bar and begin wandering around in a foreign area (at least, what seemed foreign to him. Maybe he lived here? He didn’t know). Remembering the items he had in his pockets, he decided to take out his phone and see if it triggered any memory gain.

 He turned the phone on, and immediately saw that he had 4 missed calls from someone named “Brendon”. He furrowed his brow, deciding to call the number to sort through some confusion.

 “Oh thank god.” Was the response that came from the phone, which was picked up after two rings. “Listen, Ry, I know you hate me and I know it was shitty of me to leave you there but I didn’t know what to do, and now you’re not at the motel and I don’t know how to handle this and I’m just so sorry.”

 “Um.. Who is this?” Ryan mumbled into the phone, standing near the door of the bar to better hear the voice on the other end of the phone.

 The voice faltered, and after a few seconds of silence, a deep sigh emerged.“Ry, please don’t do that. I know I’m an asshole.”

 “Ry? is that a nickname?”

 “Sorry. I know you told me not to do that.”

 So far, Ryan had not gotten any answers. He was frustrated, confused, and a little bit drunk, and he apparently had some guy calling him nicknames apologizing for something or other.

 “Listen, I don’t know who you are, and I don’t know what’s going on. Could you help me out here?” Ryan asked huffily. The other voice was silent for a few minutes.

 “This is Ryan, right?”

 “That’s what I’ve collected so far, yes.”

 “Ry, what are you talking about?”

 Ryan sighed, though he understood that this was frustrating for both parties involved. “The last thing I remember is waking up in some random alley?”

 “Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuck. Ry, where are you??”

 “Some bar. I don’t know. As I said, I don’t remember.” The scowl was very apparent in his voice, especially to Brendon who knew Ryan’s tones well.

 “Okay. I think I know where you are. Stay put, okay?”

 “Fine.”

 

    Ryan decided to sit outside on the curb and wait for the mysterious Brendon to arrive. His head was muddy, and the stuffy bar air wasn't helping. He heaved a sigh, checking the time on his phone. It was late, nearly 1 in the morning. He struggled fruitlessly to remember the events of the night, or any events at all. When he came up blank, he opened up his phone to see a text pop up.

 "Heard there was an argument of sorts. What happened?" The message read, from someone named "Spence". Ryan decided to not add to his plate of confusion, and closed the text notification. He wondered who these people were, and why everyone was so worried about him. From what he could remember about himself, he didn't seem like the kind of person people would fuss over. 

 Footsteps were approaching him, and he squinted into the darkness to see a figure coming near. Ryan jumped to his feet, assuming that this was Brendon.

 Immediately, Brendon enveloped Ryan in a tight hug, to which Ryan tensed up. He didn't know who this was. He had to admit, he was rather attractive, though. Dark brown hair that looked lazily cut and even more lazily styled, extremely defined features, and a fit body. He looked like a caricature to Ryan. Feeling Ryan tense up, Brendon let go reluctantly.  
    
 "Sorry. Do you really not remember anything?" Brendon looked into Ryan's eyes, causing Ryan to take a step back. He shook his head, and Brendon looked down at the ground sadly, worry clouding over his features. "Ry..." His voice trailed off before it could break.

 "Who are you?" Ryan asked under his breath, feeling like he needed to be quiet. Brendon only smiled sadly in response.  
  
 "Let's get you somewhere warm and indoors, first."  
   
Ryan shrugged at the prospect, deciding that going with this stranger was no worse than staying out in an unfamiliar area at one in the morning.

 

 

 

 When they reached the motel, Ryan immediately noticed that it was directly next to the alley he had woken up in. Brendon led him through the lobby, and to the stairs. The stairs proved difficult to Ryan, who was not only injured but also still slightly drunk. Once they triumphed, Brendon took Ryan into their room.  
   
 Ryan felt uneasy being in a run-down motel room alone with this man, but he didn't feel explicitly unsafe. Brendon gave him some sense of calm, that of which he hadn't been familiar with since he had woken up. Ryan hadn't noticed how cold it was inside until he entered the semi-warm motel room, and was considering getting on the bed, but there was only one in the room. He did not yet feel safe sharing a bed with this stranger, so he instead sat on the aged rolling chair that was sat in front of the desk.  
   
 He faced Brendon with anticipation, hoping he could offer an answer to the confusion he had been plagued by all night. But Brendon only looked at him sadly, like he was some sort of long lost lover. Ryan found this rather creepy, so he turned to look out the window instead.  
  
 The scenery outside felt new to Ryan, but it also seemed familiar. Like an indescribable form of deja vu. He noticed an open suitcase on the ground in front of the window containing clothes similar to the ones he was currently wearing. He deduced that since what he presumed was his luggage was in this room, he did not live in this city. At least he was getting somewhere, because Brendon was not being helpful. And Ryan suspected that messaging anyone in his phone would only cause more confusion. Especially after the caring message from "Spence" that he had received, as he could not recall any argument between anyone. That would explain his uncomfortable awakening, however. If someone had left him in an alley after a fight, he would not be surprised. He seemed like the person to do such a thing. After all, he was the sort to instinctively go directly to a bar after waking up in a strange alley.  
  
 "Who am I?" Ryan asked for what felt like the umpteenth time. Brendon swallowed, biting his lip. He wasn't sure he wanted Ryan to know what had happened, but he wasn't sure how much he could tell Ryan without him connecting the dots. He also didn't know what would trigger Ryan's memory, and Brendon was not good at walking on eggshells.  
  
"Well..."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really short because it seemed way longer on my phone when I wrote it, my bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally wrote this on mobile so layout might be kinda weird? I dunno

      Brendons voice had caught on the first word. He had no idea what to tell Ryan. What he could get away with. He didn't want to take advantage of the situation, especially if Ryan's memory loss was only temporary. Ryan would hate him if he remembered everything after being tricked.

 His voice was small as he stammered out, "You're Ryan Ross. You're from Nevada." He paused for a hard swallow, "You're 21 years old." He lied. His voice was shaking wildly, and he had no idea why he told Ryan he was two years younger than he really was. He supposed, using the stupid lie to his advantage, he would just backtrack on Ryan's life. The last two years were full of mistakes that Brendon could make up for.

 His gullible drunk mind getting the best of him, Ryan nodded. "That sounds right." He said softly, only hazily remembering the bartender accepting his ID. Brendon seemed to remember that at the same time, however, and decided he would need to somehow get Ryan's wallet away from him before he sobered up. It seemed like that would be a little while, though, as Ryan seemed at least seven drinks in. Brendon knew he got quiet between five and 9 drinks. He knew lots of weird quirks about Ryan.

 Smiling to himself about this knowledge, he got up off the bed and walked towards Ryan. Ryan shrunk away ever so slightly, still midlly wary about the whole situation, but he didn't want to make his vulnerability apparent. Brendon reached a hand out to put on Ryan's shoulder. Ryan allowed this to happen, but he was so tense he felt like he was about to pop.

 "I remember things, I think. I'm... I'm planning on starting a band, right? With my friends?" Ryan mumbled, looking up at Brendon. Brendon's skin prickled, before he realized Ryan was remembering things from two years ago. His lie seemed to be tricking Ryan's brain, somehow. Brendon nodded, smiling.

 "Yeah! Your friend Spencer, and Jon too." Brendon said leisurely, getting more comfortable with the charade.

 "Spencer..." Ryan whispered to himself, remembering the text from earlier. "Is that all the people I know? I remember another guy. Is that you?" Ryan was stumbling over his words, this being the longest statement he had said aloud so far.

 Brendon's smile melted as he realized what his lie meant. Ryan didn't know they were together. Ryan hardly knew who he was. Ryan knew him as the new guy in his band.

 Brendon hurt.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another super short chapter! yaaay

     “Brendon.” Ryan repeated to himself after a few minutes of sitting in silence. He was straining to remember who exactly he was. All he could remember about the boy was that he came and played music with them sometimes. That was the extent of his knowledge, and it hurt Brendon immensely. Ryan continued to ask Brendon about his fractured memories, where he lived, confirming things that were still fuzzy. Until he asked the question Brendon had been dreading. “How did I get in that alley?”

 “Oh. I don’t know. I think you fell down the fire escape.” Brendon replied offhandedly, glancing out the window as an excuse to not look at Ryan. He didn’t like lying to Ryan, he felt dirty doing so. But it was to cleanse the dirtiness of what caused this whole thing in the first place, he had to do it. He just had to. Under no circumstances could Ryan remember what he saw. And he couldn’t find out that he had been lying, either.

 “Why was I on the fire escape?”

 Brendon sucked in his cheeks, searching for an answer. He couldn’t recall if Ryan had been smoking when he was 21. “I dunno.” Was his defeated answer, to which Ryan made a face. Brendon saw this as a chance to get off the heavy subject, and laughed. “Hey, I’m doing my best here.”

 “Yeah, I guess you are. Thanks Brendon.” Ryan replied, smiling up at the boy with his large, striking light brown eyes. Brendon faltered, losing himself in the eyes he would always get lost in. He darted his gaze elsewhere, trying to avoid being pulled in. If he got pulled in, he would slip up. And if he slipped up, Ryan would hate him. And he couldn’t live with Ryan hating him. “Is this my room?” Ryan asked after a little while. Brendon looked behind him and realized that there was only one bed in the room, so saying that they were sharing it would seem extremely suspicious.

 “Yep, that’s your suitcase right there.” Brendon said after a few seconds of thought.

 “I know, at least I think I know. I assumed.” Ryan continued to stumble over his words, coherent thoughts proving extremely difficult. Brendon knew that Ryan was in pain, on top of all the confusion and frustration, and being drunk probably didn’t help either. He felt sorry for him, he wanted to lay down in the lumpy motel bed with him and hold him and play with his hair until he fell asleep. He wanted to make everything better for Ryan like he used to be able to do. But he had this whole charade to keep up, which made him feel ill. He wanted so badly to hold Ryan, to touch him more than comfortingly putting a hand on his shoulder. But he could tell that Ryan was very upset and tense, especially whenever he went near him. Sudden movements seemed to spook Ryan, which Brendon understood. He must have a pounding migraine. And, at age 21, he knew Ryan wasn’t in the best physical or mental state.

 Brendon decided to take care of Ryan in the best way he could. He took a step back and smiled at the boy, racking his mind for indirect ways to take care of him. “Here, why don’t you take a shower? I’m sure you feel pretty murky after this evening.” He offered. The alley must’ve been very dirty, and after immediately going to a grungy bar, it must’ve made it even worse. Ryan smiled sleepily, nodding.

 “Thanks,” He muttered at the offer, standing shakily and walking towards the bathroom. Every ounce of Brendon wanted to follow him, to undress him lovingly and shower him with gentle touches in the shower. His mind clouded with sweet thoughts of the scene, and his heart twisted when he heard the bathroom door shut behind Ryan.

 

    Ryan undressed quickly, and jumped in the shower before he had a chance to glance at himself in the dirty mirror. He couldn’t bear to look at himself. His body disgusted him, from what he could remember, and he was not in the mental state to affirm that memory. He could also recall many people telling him that he is attractive, but sneaking a look down at himself, he disagreed. He thought that a hot shower would be best for his aching muscles, but the motel pipes only ran freezing cold. The cold shower also benefitted him, however, as it almost immediately sobered him up. 

 He stood under the cold water, unmoving, for a few minutes that felt like hours, until he looked around and noticed a lack of toiletries. He shrugged to himself, deciding his mind felt clear enough to cut the shower short. He didn’t feel like standing there under the cold water without even using any soap, and since there was none, he stepped out of the shower.

 He grabbed a towel off the rack and dried his hair before wrapping it around his waist. He grabbed his dirty clothes in a big bundle, which, after finally being clean once more, smelled awful to Ryan. He assumed Brendon had left by then, to his own motel room perhaps, so he barged into the room with nothing but a towel on. He threw the dirty clothes on the floor and tried to sit on the bed, but he discovered someone was laying on it in the dark.

 Ryan leapt up, flicking the lightswitch on. “What the fuck!?” He glared at Brendon, who was laying in his bed. Brendon pulled his eyes open slowly, as if he had just woken up.

 “Fuck dude, I must’ve fallen asleep, what time is it?”

 “I know that’s bullshit, I was in the shower for like five minutes.” Ryan replied, glancing at the clock. “You can’t fucking fall asleep that fast.” He accused. Before the shower, he wouldn’t have questioned Brendon being there for more than a few minutes, but the shower had cleared his mind and sobered him up, so now all that was in his brain was frustrating confusion and confused frustration.

 “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, man. You banged your head, if you passed out in the shower and I wasn’t here, what would happen to you?” Brendon was getting defensive, he hadn’t thought that a shower would sharpen Ryan’s mind, he had been relying on his drunken confusion.

 “The door was locked, you couldn’t have done anything even if you were here.” Ryan spat back. He normally didn’t care about his privacy, but after being so vulnerable earlier, he was already suspicious of Brendon’s intentions. He didn’t need to be taken care of, either. If he had fallen in the shower he would’ve taken care of himself. He didn’t need this stranger doing it for him.

 “I’m sorry.” Was the only response Brendon could muster. He didn’t want Ryan to yell at him, god only knows what happened last time Ryan yelled at him. But Brendon couldn’t leave. This was his motel room too, where would he go? They certainly couldn’t afford another room, their band’s “tour” wasn’t really a tour at all, just a couple of gigs in the next town over. But the band obviously didn’t matter anymore. How could it? Ryan thought the band was just starting out, not with a half published album like it truly was. Everything felt wrong to Brendon, and he didn’t know what to do.

 Hopeless, he stood up slowly and left the motel room.

 


End file.
